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Some imagination Dec 2018
I like being busy
There's no surprise in that,
It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head.
I like being busy
It's the only way I've known,
To burry down those feelings
That keep on surfacing on their own.
I like being busy
I enjoy being burnt out
Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut.
I don't want a moment of silence
Because that's when
The voices in my head are
The loudest.
They Mourne, they agonize, they miss,
They sympathize.
And then all I have is this burning feeling which is
The darkest.
Lost Girl Dec 2018
Trapped inside her mind.
There are a million different doors.
All of them are locked.
None of them can fix her catastrophic thoughts.  

Only she knew the extent of her limitations.
But she didn't want to disappoint, so she kept on doing more.
All these tasks pushed her past her breaking point.

Little did she know,
Kindness was the poison rooted deep inside in her mind.

All alone.
There she goes.
Watch her soul float away.
Now she no longer feels any pain.
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call
& keep up with the market cells,
That newly married lady with chunky "red bangles"
talking to her husband with both earphones and blush on.

That man with a big fat stomach filled with his wife's love;
That teen who is on the edge of being deaf
because he can't do without the earphones.

That struggler who always stands at the back door;
That dreamer who's lost looking outside the window;
That person who's scared to get lost so stay active on the maps;
That disturbed mind who is coping up listening to George Michael;
That overworked soul who can crash anywhere.

That lady who choose to sit and freeze to death under a broken A/C unit, rather than stand with a five kilo backpack in a crowded jungle.
That girl who eats like a thief by hiding her food in the bag;
That tall enthusiastic freak who swings
and does gymnastics in a moving bus.

That granny who spot more trends than teens and follows them;
That old man who still can't keep up with the uneven roads
and the confused climate of Bombay.

That teen who lives with/on an Ipod,
instead of the 90s kids who survived on colouring books;
Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in the still crowd by surpassing like electrons to the magnetic field.

That man who is inspired by Raju Rastogi from 3 Idiots,
chanting to death and can't stop stressing on his responsibilities;
That entrepreneur with a head held high and red lipstick,
who never believes in a 9 to 5 corporate "mistake",

That blogger who can't think offline and is born to shine on the Gram,
That man who switches from Linkedln to South Indian action movie when the masses exit.
Isabelle Sep 2017
Tonight i'm so tired
That i let out a loooooonngg sigh
And let a tear fall
A haiku because im starting to reach my limit. Let it out, write it down.
Remi Leroy Apr 2017
Sheets of white piling up on my desk
Red alerts with red flags flooding my mail
The little ping, ping, ping of incoming messages from various correspondents
Demanding my attention

"You should learn to say no; stop doing everything by yourself."

Once, my insides would clench and I'd feel like I'd been
Kicked in the shin whenever I see something that reminds me of you
But now, search as I might, I can no longer see your face
Even down memory lane, you've vanished as suddenly as you did in reality

Other events flow like running water, with the clarity of a clear lake
Yet when I try to recall the words you said
It was as if a mischievous kid decided to mess with the tap
On; off. On... off. On... off. On; off.
A buffering in my mind like chopped up notes of a song when a video wouldn't load properly
1991. 9893. 0306. 162. 0341. Numbers are all I remember.
How did
Your smile look like?
How did your voice
Sound like?

I stare at the excel sheet I've been populating
I stare at the values I've been entering
One after another, work requests come
One after another, the traces of you go
Harsh unyielding sunset, buries me against the page.
I won't be lazing on a couch, left to rot and waste away.
Wormy plush Berber carpet soft against the afternoon.
Debts are pile high and the company picnic happens this June.

The pages are vellum paper covered in ancient Egyptian script.
I love you methodically ever since we met inside that crypt.
The carpet brings me solemn hope that one day we can breakthrough.
Works calling in on Sunday for some overtime that's now due.

Its a 5 past 4 the glass lays arrhythmic shattered at my feet.
We found each other down beside the casket of the diseased.
Heartfelt words never came out of a mouth that were so pure.
How could you take me interesting, in life I'm just a bore.

Down I've already ruined the letter meant from me to you.
Lives not a fairy tale to broker marriage between us two.
Blood lettings an aphrodisiac to keep me at the brink.
Why'd I write this silly thing when I spilled my drink.
um. written with a friend. This poem is her fault.
Soeka laborde Oct 2016
I've never Skipped rocks
Nor made ripples in a pond
Never paid attention to the bees in the garden
Nor the ants marching in unison
Never stopped to smell the roses
Nor stick my toes in the sand
Never gazed at the sunrise
Never awed at the sunset
Nor have I ever been spellbound by the stars perfectly positioned in the heavens
Never went camping or pitched a tent
Never show my anger
But somehow I always vent
Now I look back in my haste
I wish to regain the time I've waste.
*©La Vida Love
He; inexhaustible yet exhausting,
Ruthlessly efficient yet demanding,
Hard working yet withholding,
Yet deemed necessary.
Protecting that which
Long ago was made sacred;
The heart, the hearth, the home,
None may touch that hallowed ground.
Defence was needed
Safety paramount
And then...

The years passed...

This ninja warrior endured
Sliced, hacked, diverted, whirled in endless pirouettes
Of engaged battles
Of mesmerising movement
Of unrelenting actions
Of no consequence
For the mighty goal of protecting
Was now all but forgotten.

So effective was his defence
Of the thing called 'home'
That it was hidden from all view
Beneath his whirling dexterity of projects and activities.

The years passed...

And there was no home.

Never did the warrior stop to question his task
That old old command.
He simply obeyed
As a warrior should
And continue
Until his death
To protect the property of his master

The result
a hollow, busy, lonely life,
Punctuated by exhaustion
And the question....
"What's missing? "

But so complete was his defense
So skillful his guard
That none saw what lay beneath.
Too mesmerised by his motions to see that
He was but a distraction
A diversion
From the question which would strike such fear into his masters heart
"What will happen if I stop?"
Perhaps this will strike a chord with others who work too hard
Raphael Uzor Mar 2014
She wins...
She always does

After a long busy stay
From missing her all day
I go home to her
And she's there, she's always there,
Patient, soothing and tender
Luring me to bed...
As I fight her charms,
Trying to stay up; workaholic impulse raging!

I win...
For a moment or so

Daring to focus
For a couple more hours
Desperate not to give in
At least not without a fight.
She peeks out from our bedroom
Sneaking up from behind,
As I snooze momentarily
But I can't win this fight, there's no use trying!

Accepting defeat, I embrace her
Letting her caress me

She entraps me all night
I'm lost, against my will
I know I'll wake up guilty,
Wishing I could send her away
But I'm stuck with her for life
And she takes so much of my time
Time I could use for work
But no, she won't let go; not when I always yield!

And no, she's not my wife
She's not even my girlfriend
Not some girl from across the street
Just a nobody, named Sleep!

© Raphael Uzor
What were you thinking?

— The End —